


Heart Grow Fonder

by Synekdokee



Series: Mafia AU [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Hank Big, Jealousy, M/M, Mafia AU, Mirror Sex, Waifu Connor, emotional drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 10:44:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18092804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/pseuds/Synekdokee
Summary: Previous content for this AUhere.





	Heart Grow Fonder

It’s the first time Hank has taken a business trip that lasted longer than a few days. Connor won’t admit it out loud, but by the fourth day he misses his owner - and not just his presence and company. Connor’s getting increasingly frustrated, and his toys aren’t scratching the itch anymore. Connor *aches* for Hank, can’t take his mind off him. There is the occasional phone call, and one instance of exciting but in the end unfulfilling phone sex, and it had only made things worse.

He’s having pizza with Markus and some of Hank’s other employees. Dinners without Hank are far more relaxed, and Connor smiles as he listens to the men joke around.

”I’m sure the boss is having a good time,” Josh laughs, picking at mushrooms. ”It’s alright for him, the people he does business with practically throw pretty chicks and dudes at him.”

Connor looks at him, and North digs an elbow into Josh’s side.

”Ow, what’s your problem?” Josh complains, and North nods mutely towards Connor, who ducks his head down.

”Oh, come on, Connor of all people knows Mr. Anderson’s a real horn-dog,” Josh says. North hisses something sharply, and after a beat Josh says, ”Oh...”

Connor grabs the final piece of a pepperoni pizza and stands up.

”I think I’ll go watch a movie,” he mumbles. As he shuts the door behind him, he hears frantic whispering, and then Josh’s voice, defensive.

”Well how was I supposed to know?!”

With a sigh, Connor heads upstairs, trying to ignore the tightness in his gut.

 

He puts on one of Hank’s old movies, some grand romantic affair. It’s hard to concentrate on the melodrama unfolding on the screen though - all Connor can think of is what Josh had said.

He knows how naive he’s been, thinking what he and Hank have is exclusive. He feels stupid for not having thought of it before - a man like Hank, powerful and influential, of course he wouldn’t limit himself to just one toy when he has a proverbial box to play in.

He wonders if there are others like him, who get to see Hank regularly. Is there another “boy” somewhere that Hank visits on his trips? That Hank brings expensive gifts to, that Hank calls beautiful?

He tries to tell himself it doesn’t matter - he’s known his place since he arrived. He’s Hank’s toy, his pet, something to keep him satisfied and entertained.

It doesn’t help. There’s an ache building in his chest that Connor hates himself for. He’s tried to remember what he is, to remember he’s here as nothing more but a business transaction. But Hank had swept him off his feet, had charmed him and made him feel safe and special, and Connor’s stupid, starved heart had eaten it up.

He rubs a hand over his sternum, trying to ease the tightness there. He turns the movie off and heads to bed early.

Connor tries to not let it affect him. He goes running the next day with North, early in the morning, and makes a point to not ask about last night’s topic. North doesn’t offer, though she gives him a few side-eyed glances.

He tries to occupy himself to the best of his ability, only to realise how little there is to fill his days with when Hank’s not around to... play with him, or to take him out in the evenings.

 

Hank’s been gone a week when Connor is in his room, reading under the covers. It’s late, but he’s not tired, lost in the world of a gothic tragedy when there’s a familiar knock on his door. Connor jolts, a mix of excitement and anxiety coursing through him when Hank enters. He’s wearing a white cotton suit, and he looks more tan than usual, and Connor’s poor heart swells at the sight of him.

”Hello,” Hank purrs, setting a slim paper bag by the bed. Connor lets out a soft sound and shoves the covers off, scrambling to the foot of the bed and practically throwing himself at Hank, his earlier doubts forgotten for a moment. Hank lets out a winded sound, but wraps an arm around Connor, holding him tight.

”Well, nice to be missed,” he drawls, sounding amused, and Connor squeezes him before letting go and backing up on the bed.

”I _did_ miss you,” Connor says shyly, sitting back against the pillows piled up against the headboard. Hank looks at him with hooded eyes, a slight smile on his lips. ”Did you have a good trip?”

Hank grunts, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his shoes. ”Profitable,” he says curtly, climbing on the bed and nudging Connor’s legs apart.

Suddenly Connor’s worries flood back.

”Surely you had time for fun?” He asks, trying to keep his tone casual.

Hank makes a dismissive sound, leaning in to kiss Connor while he reaches for the slick. Connor kisses him back, a little desperate, wanting to stake a claim he has no business asserting.

Hank hums, pleased, pushing his tongue inside Connor’s mouth while he pulls Connor’s boxers off.

”Did they entertain you well?” Connor asks, insistent, gasping a little when he feels Hank’s thick fingers at his opening, rubbing the slick against his skin before pushing in.

”Mm, they do know how to treat their guests,” Hank murmurs, pressing a kiss to Connor’s chest. He presses a third finger inside Connor, making him groan, despite the anxiety now welling inside him.

Josh was right, he’s sure of it. Hank must’ve fucked others, maybe men who aren’t like Connor, who weren’t dragged out of a two-bit sex club-

”Distracted?” Hank growls, giving his hip a light smack.

”Sorry, sir,” Connor says softly, averting his gaze.

Hank frowns, giving him an odd look, but goes back to what he was doing. Despite everything, Hank’s fingers stretching him, rubbing against his prostate send a jolt of arousal through Connor, making him arch his back and cling to Hank.

”Think you’re good,” Han says easily, pulling his hand away and moving to grip Connor’s hips. He yanks, dragging Connor down the bed until he’s flat on his back - a usually playful move when Hank’s in an especially good mood.

Tonight it only startles Connor, his thoughts distracting him.

”You’re behaving odd,” Hank remarks, standing up on his knees to undo his belt and fly. Connor shakes his head, forcing a smile.

”It’s nothing. Just a little tired.”

Hank arches an eyebrow. He takes his cock out, stroking it to full hardness, and Connor’s dick twitches at the sight of it, flushed and swollen and so big.

An image rises in his head, of Hank fucking someone else, someone nameless and faceless but still beautiful and-

He forces the thought away when Hank crawls over him, settling between his legs. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, angry. Even if Hank has dozens of other boys to go to, Connor has no choice but to be one of them. Nothing has changed, except now Connor knows where he stands.

Hank pushes inside him, the tip of his cock sliding in, and Connor takes a deep breath, forcing himself to relax.

”Christ, boy,” Hank growls, pausing for a moment and then pushing deeper. ”Still so tight for me.”

Connor lets out a sound, trying to enjoy this. He loves Hank’s cock, loves Hank’s bulk pinning him down, he does, God, he does. But now with Hank here he can’t stop thinking of the others, of the praise Hank must rain on them, the same compliments and same desire-

He closes his eyes and turns his face away, gasping when Hank moves inside him, beginning to fuck him.

”That’s it, sweet little thing,” Hank murmurs, and then he reaches a hand between them and-

 

Hank stops. Connor opens his eyes to see him pull out and sit back on his haunches, an displeased look on his face.

”Am I boring you?” Hank asks, tone sharp as he gestures at Connor’s soft cock. ”Didn’t expect to come home to a damn starfish.”

Connor flushes, feeling humiliated, and he grabs the covers and tugs them over him as he rolls over to face away from Hank.

There’s a pause that seems to stretch forever, and then Hank says, voice incredulous -

”Are you *sulking*?”

Connor hesitates, but Hank seems to read it as defiance.

”Are you forgetting who you work for?” He growls, voice low, and Connor shivers. He knows when he’s pushed past a limit. He rolls over and sits up, the covers held to his chest like a shield.

”I’m sorry, sir,” he says miserably. Hank narrows his eyes at him.

”What the hell happened here while I was gone?” Then something dangerous flashes in his blue eyes. ”Did Reed show his face again?”

”No! It’s not that-”

”Good,” Hank grunts. ”Because the next time I _will_ kill him.”

”It wasn’t Reed!” Connor says, panicked, worried that Hank’s about to start a witch hunt.

Hank stills. ”So it was _someone_?”

”No one did anything!” Connor yells, and then shrinks back down at the look Hank shoots at him.  
”Sorry, sir,” Connor mumbles.

“If you think anyone in this house is going to keep a secret from me, clearly you’re not as sharp as I thought,” Hank growls, moving to get off the bed.

“It’s stupid,” Connor says, pulling his knees up and hugging them to his chest. He feels small. Pathetic. He let his guard down and he let himself hope.

Hank sits on the edge of the bed, eyeing him in silence.

“Tell me,” he says finally, placing a hand on Connor’s knee, forcing his legs down. Forcing him to bare himself to Hank.

“Jo- someone said,” Connor starts, and then pauses, licking at his dry lips. Anxiety claws at his stomach.

“They said you have… others. When you go away, that you have other men and women, that you like to-” He can’t say anymore. It’s too humiliating. He swallows around the tightness in his throat, fighting to keep his breathing even, shallow.

Hank says nothing. He sits in silence, hand on Connor’s knee, face unreadable. He stands up and paces to the window, running his hand through his hair and letting it loose from the cord tying it back. Connor watches him, not daring to speak.

Hank lets out a deep sigh, and then snorts. He turns to face Connor, leaning back against the paned window, arms crossed over his chest. He looks so handsome, possessing the kind of easy confidence that Connor can only dream of. Connor’s gut tightens with something greedy.

“And so what if I did?” Hank asks, his tone even.

Connor looks away, biting his lip.

“I don’t know. Nothing, I guess,” he says quietly. “I’m still your whore,” he says, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Hank lets out a contemplative sound, and then he walks to the bed, taking the paper bag he’d set down. He reaches in and pulls out a dark blue box, about the size of a tablet but thicker, with a small latch on it, and holds it out to Connor.

Connor hesitates. He pushes the covers off himself and crawls along the bed, naked, and takes the box. Hank grabs his biceps, firm but not hard, and tugs him off the bed, until Connor is standing in the middle of the room.

“Sir?” Connor asks softly, holding the box in his hands. Hank moves to stand behind him, the cotton of his suit brushing against Connor’s back.

“Open it,” Hank murmurs, hands on Connor’s shoulders.

Connor unclasps the latch and opens the box slowly. He draws in a long, slow breath, shock fluttering through him.

Hank reaches around him and plucks the necklace out of its bed of velvet. Three layered strands of various sized pearls cascade together, their flawless surfaces reflecting light in muted pearlescence.

Connor stares at himself in the large mirror on the wall as Hank drapes the necklace over his chest and fastens it behind his neck. The box is taken out of Connor’s hands, placed somewhere on the floor.

The pearls are cold against Connor’s skin. His skin is raised with goosebumps, his nipples hard and tight under the cool strands. Hank’s hands slide down to his hips, pressing into his skin, possessive. He watches in the mirror as Hank dips his head down and kisses his shoulder, rubbing his beard over Connor’s flushed skin.

“Look at yourself,” Hank says, voice low.

Connor looks. He sees himself. Sees the flush spreading from his face to his neck and chest. Sees the pale pearls, the lowest delicate strand touching his navel. His eyes are dark, his lips red and parted with bewilderment.

Hank tugs him back, until Connor’s ass is pressing against the swell of his arousal.

“How could anyone else satisfy me,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around Connor’s waist, “when I have this waiting for me?”

Connor lets out a soft sound and turns in Hank’s hold, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Sir-” he says, voice weak, and it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know what to say, because Hank kisses him, hungry and demanding.

Connor’s hands go to Hank’s chest, holding on to the fine thread of his shirt, clinging. He pushes up into the kiss, a little desperate for it to never end as Hank wraps his arms around him and holds him in a bruising embrace.

“Sir,” Connor says breathlessly as they finally break the kiss. “Here, fuck me here, I want to see-”

Hank growls, leaning in to kiss his neck and then bites, hard, until Connor cries out and his knees almost buckle.

“Undress me,” Hank growls, and Connor’s heart thuds harder in his chest.

Hank has never allowed Connor to see him naked. He likes the feeling of Connor nude against him, likes looking at Connor, likes touching him - but he never takes off his own clothes. Only ever undoes his pants, unbuttons his shirt, a few times took it off but left his undershirt.

He’d never outright denied it from Connor, but Connor had understood the meaning in it. Everything Hank does is an assertion of power. Connor is to be used by Hank. He’s here for Hank’s pleasure, not the other way around.

Connor has hungered for it, to see all of Hank; to see the solid form of his body, to see everything that makes him what he is.

His fingers tremble as he begins to undo the buttons on Hank’s shirt. Hank watches him, an indulgent, amused look on his face. Connor can hardly breathe, excitement and want making his body hum.

He pushes the shirt off Hank’s shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. He runs his hands down Hank’s arms, his thick biceps and forearms, and then takes the hem of his undershirt in his fingers.

He looks up, uncertain. Hank quirks an eyebrow, and Connor blushes deeper, want curling in his gut as he lifts the cotton up. He keeps his eyes on Hank’s face, breathing hard, wanting so bad to glance down. Hank tilts his chin up, and Connor realises maybe he’s not the only one here who’s nervous.

Hank lifts his arms and allows Connor to tug the shirt off, and only then does Connor let himself look.

“Oh,” he sighs softly, placing his hands on Hank’s broad chest. He wants-

Everything. He wants to fall to his knees and press kisses to the barrel of Hank’s stomach. He wants to card his fingers through the grey hair covering his skin, to trace the faded tattoo on Hank’s chest. He wants to suck at the pale, soft nipples, wants to lap at the scars marring Hank’s skin.

Instead he steps close to Hank, until they’re belly to belly, chest to chest, and drapes his arms around Hank’s neck. He stands there, feeling Hank, the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart against his.

Hank chuckles, untangling him. “Still some left,” he says dryly, and Connor thinks he sees a hint of something veiled on Hank’s face. Something uncertain.

Connor kisses him, and then sinks down to his knees, the pearls rattling gently as he moves. He hears Hank’s sharp inhalation, but he doesn’t look up.

Hank’s belt and fly are still undone, and it’s easy work to push his pants and boxers down. Another tattoo is revealed, a clover on his thigh, and Connor traces it gently with the tips of his fingers.

He leans in and presses his cheek against the swell of Hank’s gut, closing his eyes for a moment. A hand strokes through his hair, petting him gently, and Connor shivers with pleasure.

“That’s my boy,” Hank rumbles, and Connor sighs softly, pressing a kiss to Hank’s stomach. He lets his hands wander over all that exposed skin, feeling the hard muscle and the soft fat, the wiry hair against his palms.

“Please,” Connor breathes, and the hand in his hair tightens. Another hand comes to push on his shoulder, and Connor folds, easy and willing. He lets Hank turn him around until he’s facing the mirror again, and then Hank kneels down behind him and Connor’s cock twitches.

Hank is a man who commands the room. He’s larger than life, broad and strong and beautiful. Next to him, in the mirror, Connor looks vanishingly small. Hank’s hand on his shoulder looks like a mark of ownership.

The hand slides down to his back and presses, and Connor lets out a soft whimper before he falls forwards, lowering his chest down obediently, his chin resting on his arms. He meets Hank’s gaze in the mirror, watches Hank slide his hand along Connor’s spine and rest it on his raised ass.

“I want you to watch,” Hank says, voice low, demanding. Connor blinks lazily, feeling hazy with lust, and shifts until his knees are spread wider.

Hank shifts, his hand disappearing between them, and then Connor feels the tip of his cock press against his still-slick hole.

Hank slides in, thick and hard, and Connor lets out a thick groan, lashes fluttering.

“Sir,” he pants, and Hank growls as he sinks down to the hilt, his balls resting against Connor’s.

“That’s it, keep watching,” Hank says through gritted teeth, and pulls out until just the tip is inside Connor. He grabs Connor’s hip in a bruising grip, and pushes back in, and then begins to fuck Connor, pulling out and slamming back in until Connor feels like the air is being punched out of him with each thrust. He throws an arm out, bracing himself on the rug, staring at himself in the mirror.

“Look at you,” Hank says, and Connor sobs when he sees Hank lean over him. Hank’s stomach presses against his back, pinning him down, his thick arms caging Connor down against the floor.

“Gorgeous,” Hank murmurs, his eyes meeting Connor’s.

“Sir, please,” Connor whimpers, trying to rock back onto Hank’s cock, but he’s held in place by Hank’s weight. Hank chuckles, nuzzling behind Connor’s ear, and begins to rut into him, short, fast thrusts that make his cock drag over Connor’s prostate over and over again.

Connor sobs, pressing his face against his arm, not caring that his cheek is rubbing against the carpet. Hank shifts, pressing down against him, and Connor’s nipples brush against the rug, pulling a ragged shout from him.

“Sir, I’m- please,” Connor cries, trying to dig his fingers into the rug. He’s so close, he’s going to come whether Hank gives him permission or not.

He feels Hank move, and then a large hand curls around his aching dick, shoving him over the edge. Connor comes with a wail, hole clenching around Hank’s girth, his scream drowning out Hank’s voice in his ear muttering something in an approving tone.

Connor’s knees give out and he slumps down, trying to catch his breath while Hank begins to pound him, punching soft gasps out of him.

“Fuck, that’s it, my perfect little-” Hank grunts, and then Connor feels him go still, just his hips making aborted jerks while he empties himself inside Connor, letting out a choked moan. Connor sobs out a happy sound, closing his eyes as he waits for Hank to finish coming, his heavy breaths fanning across Connor’s neck.

Whatever fears he had, they’re gone now. He knows there’s no one who could make Hank lose control like this, make him indulge like this. If Hank has others, it doesn’t matter - he’ll always come back home to Connor.

Hank is panting like a racehorse above him, and Connor can feel his chest brush his back with each inhale. He looks up into the mirror, sees his own red, tear-streaked face and glassy eyes, bracketed between Hank’s strong arms. And above him is Hank, head hanging down, his body heaving with exertion.

Finally Hank pushes himself up to his knees, and then slowly stands up. Connor can hear his knees pop, and he feels a little contrite.

“Jesus,” Hank breathes, reaching down to pull Connor up. Connor staggers, falling into Hank’s chest, his legs like rubber. Hank laughs, steadying him with a hand on his back, and guides him towards the bed, where Connor collapses into the soft bedding.

“Stay,” Connor says sweetly, reaching a hand out to Hank. Hank eyes him for a moment, and then sighs, smacking Connor’s hip to make him move, and then climbs in to join him. Connor feels his deft fingers at his neck, undoing the clasp of the necklace. The pearls rattle against the bedside table as Hank sets them down.

All shame fucked out of him, Connor is on him in an instant, throwing an arm around Hank’s stomach and resting his head on Hank’s chest. He can feel the tension that coils Hank’s body tight, but slowly he unwinds, and places a hand on Connor’s hair, stroking absently.

“That was nice,” Connor murmurs, feeling suddenly drained.

Hank hums, tugging lightly at Connor’s hair.

“Are you done with your crisis?” Hank says dryly, and Connor squirms against him.

“Am I in trouble?”

Hank huffs out a laugh, smoothing Connor’s hair down.

“Depends,” he says, voice pitched low. Connor closes his eyes and listens to the reverberations of it through Hank’s chest. “Your brattiness is cute. For now,” Hank says, a hint of warning in his tone.

“I didn’t mean to be bratty,” Connor says softly, feeling a little hurt. “You don’t tell me anything. I don’t know anything about my place here, except that I’m here for as long as I can keep your attention on me.”

He knows he’s overstepped again, but he can’t bear to look at Hank. He keeps his eyes closed and tightens his hold around Hank’s waist, trying to calm his pulse.

Hank is quiet for a long time, and Connor is scared to move. He doesn’t want to break this moment - he rarely gets to have Hank after they fuck, and he wants to enjoy the feel of him for as long as he’s allowed.

Finally, Hank speaks, his words coming out slow, as though he’s considering them each, like appraising pearls.

“I won’t make promises I don’t know for sure I can keep,” he says, curling his palm over Connor’s shoulder. “But you won’t be returned to the club. I won’t lie to you - I’ve lost interest in lovers before. And if I were you I wouldn’t press me for undying faithfulness.” It’s a very clear warning, and an admonishment.

Connor swallows, his chest tight.

“Yes, sir,” he whispers, and Hank squeezes his shoulder. Then, after a moment of hesitation that Connor can sense in the tension of his body, Hank says,

“I don’t take pets often. The previous one was… a while back. It ended badly, through no fault of mine.” There’s a brush of lips over Connor’s temple, and the band around his chest seems to loosen.

“Don’t disappoint me, and you’ll never have to worry about your next place of employment.”

Connor’s heart flutters against his sternum, and he turns his head to press a kiss to Hank’s chest, imagining he can feel his pulse against his lips.

“I won’t, sir,” he murmurs. “I promise.”

Hank grunts, seemingly satisfied, and turns to his side, trapping Connor under the weight of his arm. Connor smiles, tucked against Hank’s broad shape. Nothing may be certain, but here in the embrace of the most feared man in Michigan, Connor feels safer than ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on:  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SynTurtle)  
> [Tumblr.](http://roomfullofcunts.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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